


Who's A Good Boy Then, Jeeves?

by cuddyclothes



Series: Give Satisfaction Kink Meme [3]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: But Still Jeeves, Dog!Jeeves, Gen, Hypnotism, Originally Posted on Dreamwidth, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-06-24 21:33:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19732192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuddyclothes/pseuds/cuddyclothes
Summary: Barmy tries out hypnotism on Jeeves. It doesn't go as expected.“Pat my head, sir. I would appreciate it greatly.”“Jeeves,” I hissed, “I’m not patting you on the head in public. Now be a good boy while I read the paper. Stay!”“Very good, sir.”From a prompt on give_satisfaction: "Non-sexual pet play."





	1. Chapter 1

“Thank you, Jeeves,” I said as my man bunged down a platter of fragrant eggs and bacon before the young master. Jeeves inclined the noble head. He then sat on his haunches, staring fixedly at my plate. This was deeply unnerving, even though it had become a regular occurrence at mealtime. To avoid it I had been lunching and dining anywhere but in Berkeley Mansions, W.1. One doesn’t like to think about one’s table manners while enduring the hungry gaze of one’s valet. But venturing out to eat breakfast was simply too much to ask, particularly on mornings after a night of strenuous revelry. So I suffered through my valet fixing his eyes on my plate as if to look away would cause the earth to crack open and swallow us all.

He raised his peepers to me with silent imploring.

“Very well, dash it!” I tore off a small piece of bacon and tossed it into the air. Jeeves caught it in his teeth, swallowed, then took out his handkerchief and dabbed the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you, sir,” he murmured, his gaze latching once more onto the comestibles.

“Jeeves, I’d like coffee today. Don’t concern yourself about the young master, just—just stay in the kitchen until it’s made.”

Jeeves continued to stare at the food. “Are you sure, sir? You might drop your fork.”

“Then you’d lick it and hand it back to me. No, that is not happening again, Jeeves, make the dratted coffee.”

“Very good, sir.” Jeeves stood and flowed out to the kitchen. I put my head in my hands, then realized I had to get outside all of the bacon before he returned, lest he continue to look at the edibles with that Soul’s Awakening gaze. By the time he served freshly made coffee I had cleaned my plate to a sparkling finish. If for a brief moment sadness crossed his finely chiseled features, what of it?

In the ordinary course of human events the arrival of the post went unnoticed, but not since Jeeves had entered this extremely disturbing phase. Before any sound reached my ears, my valet was at the door, standing straight and exclaiming “You there! You there! You there!” at the postman on the other side while the mail slid through the slot into the basket. I prayed he wouldn’t bring the mail to me in his mouth. Thank God he was still Jeeves enough to bring it to me on a silver tray.

Don’t misunderstand, Jeeves was still Jeeves, but he was also not Jeeves, albeit in a Jeevesian fashion. To put it plainly, the man had an unnerving way of acting like a dog at times. Even with his enormous perspicacity, the blighter saw nothing amiss. It seemed utterly natural to the cove to be crouching on his haunches next to my chair, begging with quiet dignity for a morsel or two. The first time it happened, after serving me gammon with salted potatoes and asparagus, I started and squawked, “Jeeves, what on earth are you doing?”

“I would deem it a great kindness if you would let me have some of your gammon, sir.”

“Jeeves, don’t you have your own dinner in the kitchen?”

“Yes, sir, but it would taste far better coming from your plate.”

God help me, I gave him a small piece of meat. Instead of taking it with his hands, he tugged it out of my fingers with his teeth. As if it were the most natural thing in the world! I mean to say, what? And wouldn’t you know he started begging at the table at every meal? My late uncle Willoughby would have fallen to the ground in a fit at the way I let my valet beg, even more so when I let Jeeves lick the plate clean. He’d had his hunting dogs fed elsewhere at the old family pile. Since then I’d made a practice of tearing off a few small pieces to feed him throughout the feast. One couldn’t resist that pair of large grey eyes staring up so beseechingly, could one? It was only a few pieces of bacon or lamb or plum duff and Jeeves enjoyed it so much, how could I not? And he always wiped his mouth.

It also took a bit of getting used to when he started sleeping on my bed at nights. No, it’s not what you think. Jeeves stands by the bed, gently paws at the counterpane for a bit, then curls up near the foot of the bed and falls asleep. He wears pajamas, of course! It would be an unthinkable liberty to sleep on my bed in his uniform. Yes, it is a trifle annoying when a loud noise in the street causes him to wake up and yell “What! What! What!” Takes me forever to get back to sleep after that; Jeeves just resumes his place on the bed and goes right to sleep again. Once I shooed him off the bed. But he kept walking around and around until I patted the sheets with exasperation and said, “oh, all right, Jeeves, hop up!”

By now you’re asking, “Bertram, how on earth did this catastrophe occur? Why does your faithful manservant think he’s a Labrador retriever?”

It’s all the fault of that blithering idiot Barmy Fotheringay-Phipps. He got his mitts on a little green book called “How To Hypnotize People”. He was blathering on at the Drones at how corking hypnotism was, how the hypnotist could make anyone do anything. He proved it by making Freddy Threepwood think he was a garage mechanic and that the porter’s desk was an Aston-Martin. Rogers, our porter, got quite vehement when Freddie went behind and began dismantling the hat stand. It was a great hit.

Right idiot that I am, I invited him back to the flat to hypnotize me. I wasn’t about to risk turning into a water buffalo at the Drones. Much better to do it in safer environs, the good old homestead. Little did I know.

Barmy had me stare at a watch he swung in the air, telling me to sleep. It seemed to go on for hours, but I was alert as when I drank one of Jeeves’s restoratives.

“You’re coming a right cropper, Barmy,” I said. “I’m not sleepy in the least.”

“You haven’t got enough brains to let me hypnotize you!” Barmy spluttered.

“I say! I’m a great deal smarter than Freddy!”

“Here, Jeeves! I’ll hypnotize your valet!”

“Nobody can mesmerize that great brain, Barmy.” I smiled indulgently. “Be my guest. Would you mind very much, Jeeves, letting Barmy hypnotize you?”

“I am not a believer in mesmerism, sir.”

“Then you won’t mind if Barmy makes an ass of himself. Go to it, Barmy.”

Dashed if Barmy didn’t get Jeeves looking rather muzzy, even if Jeeves did not fall asleep. Barmy giggled and said “When I snap my fingers, you will be a Labrador retriever.”

He snapped his fingers. Jeeves continued to look rather muzzy but nothing happened. “Come on, Jeeves, you’re a Labrador retriever!” Barmy snapped his fingers several times, to no avail.

“I am sorry to disappoint you, sir, but I am not a Labrador retriever,” Jeeves informed him deferentially.

“Ha! You see, Barmy? It’s fake!”

“I’m going to go try it on Biffy, then!” Barmy spluttered, and left in high dudgeon.

I held up a cigarette for Jeeves to light. “He can hypnotize Biffy, Jeeves, but Biffy will forget he’s hypnotized in five minutes. I say, are you all right, Jeeves?”

He rubbed his temple. “I shall be better directly, sir.” He flowed into the kitchen to slap together dinner.

It was only the following day that I found out that some wires had somehow got crossed. Jeeves was not a Labrador retriever—well, most of him was not. But some of him was. And that damned Fotheringay-Phipps had gone off to Paris for the races and wouldn’t be back until the next month!

It had been two weeks and no sign of Jeeves becoming 100% Jeeves any time in the near future.

I sat in the armchair, reading the newspaper, until I again became aware of Jeeves’s stare. “Yes? What is it, Jeeves.”

“If I might take the liberty, sir, it is a fine day for a walk in the park.”

“Jeeves, I’m reading the society pages.”

“Indeed, sir, but it is a fine day for a walk in the park.”

“No, Jeeves.”

“Sir, we should go for a walk in the park.”

“ _No_ , Jeeves.”

“Sir, let’s go for a walk in the park let’s go for a walk in the park, sir, let’s go for a walk in the park—“

“Jeeves! Stop that prancing back and forth!”

“I should very much appreciate going for a walk in the park, sir.”

“Dash it! Let me get my hat, Jeeves.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you!”

Out of the door, business as usual. Jeeves bought a nosegay from the flower seller and shoved it in my buttonhole with his usual _eclat_. We crossed over to the park, where I made myself at home on a bench with my newspaper and a gasper. Once again, I felt The Stare.

“What is it now, Jeeves?” I said, glaring at him over the sporting section.

“If you could throw this, sir.” From his pocket, Jeeves produced a tennis ball and tossed it to me.

“Jeeves! I’m not bloody well going to throw a tennis ball across the park for you to run after.”

After a few tense seconds, Jeeves relaxed and sat on the bench next to me. “Very good, sir.” He sniffed the air. “If you will pardon me, sir, I perceive that there is a squirrel next to that tree.” In a flash, he was on his feet on the trail of the unwary mammal. The squirrel ran up the tree, leaving Jeeves to stand beneath the branches with his hands on his hips. “Squirrel! I insist you come down at once!” He pointed at the ground. “Squirrel!”

For a moment I was flummoxed, but then I realized what must be done. I clapped my hands loudly together and whistled. “Jeeves! Here, Jeeves! Jeeves!”

He obediently shimmered back, bowler hat in hand. “Good boy,” I said.

“Thank you, sir.”

It was then I made the mistake of patting him on the head. He pushed his head into my hand. “If you would do that again, sir.”

“Do what?”

“Pat my head, sir. I would appreciate it greatly.”

“Jeeves,” I hissed, “I’m not patting you on the head in public. Now be a good boy while I read the paper. Stay!”

“Very good, sir.”

“Lead me to the nearest pet shop and we’ll buy some biscuits for you, old thing.”

“Very good, sir. Thank you, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aunt Agatha comes to tea...with McIntosh.

One thought one had adjusted to a valet who, while superb in every way, occasionally behaved as a Labrador retriever. Jeeves was now given walks twice a day (fortunately all he did was chase squirrels), slept at the foot of my bed at night, shouted at the postman, and begged for food at meals. One thought one could ride this out until Barmy returned from his travels and de-hypnotized Jeeves back into being 100% gentleman’s personal gentleman.

One would have been wrong.

Jeeves shimmered in with the Darjeeling one bright, sunny morn. “Good morning, Mr. Wooster. Mr. Fotheringay-Phipps called earlier. He desires to see you.”

“Barmy? Is he here?” I leapt out of bed and seized my dressing gown, wrapping it about the slender frame. “We can finally stop all of this nonsense!”

“No, sir, he merely left the message.”

“Ring him up, Jeeves! Tell him to get himself back to Berkeley Mansions immediately if not sooner!”

“Very good, sir. Mrs. Gregson telephoned and asked that you give her luncheon.”

I moaned and clutched the head. “Not Aunt Agatha, Jeeves, not now! At the risk of offending you I simply cannot have her see you—you know— _begging._ ”

“Sir!” He drew back slightly.

“Jeeves, I don’t mind, but she might think it a bit odd. And I can’t lock you in the kitchen _and_ have you serve at table.”

His facial expression expressed what I can only call opprobrium. “Mrs. Gregson will be arriving in 45 minutes, sir,” he said frigidly. “I shall draw your bath. If there will be nothing else.” Jeeves seemed to float backwards toward the _salle de bain_ , where presently there came the sound of running water.

“Don’t serve beef!” I called after him.

Shortly before the appointed hour, I visited Jeeves in the kitchen.

“Jeeves,” I opened with, “what I have to say might wound you.”

“Sir?” He looked up from the little green leafy things he was tearing into even tinier little green leafy things.

“There have been recent activities in the Wooster household that will have to be temporarily suspended. There will be _no_ walk in the park. There will be _no_ begging at table. I am the master, you are the do—servant. Do we understand, Jeeves?”

“No walk in the park, sir?” His brow furrowed.

“Today you must behave. Good valets do not beg at table.”

“Very good, sir.” The poor fellow was quite cast down.

“You can have an extra walk tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Thank you, sir!”

The doorbell rang. To my dismay, Jeeves went to the door saying loudly, “Who’s there? Who’s there? Who’s there?”

“Mrs. Gregson!” said the booming voice on the other side. Jeeves was instantly his dignified self as he swung open the door. She glared at him. “Who on earth was making that horrible noise?”

Before he could answer, he looked down. With growing horror, I realized she was carrying—

The dog McIntosh.

Jeeves’s eyes widened, then narrowed. I would swear on a stack of Bibles that the hair on the back of his neck stood up! McIntosh looked up at Jeeves, and growled!

Aunt Agatha gave my valet her best stink-eye. “Jeeves! Bertie, what is the matter with the man?”

With a speed I wouldn’t have believed myself, I leapt across the room and tore McIntosh from my aunt’s arms. “Jeeves! No! No! Into the kitchen with you! Tea! Tea!”

Although no one else would have been able to tell, there was a visible struggle on Jeeves’s pan before he said, “Very good, sir” and flowed out to the kitchen. Having averted a very one-sided confrontation, I heaved a sigh of relief.

“What is wrong with you, Bertie?” Agatha demanded. “First that disgraceful yelling and now you take my dog away from me! Are you drunk?”

“No, no, no! I just wanted to hold the little chappie.”

“Give him back this instant!”

Reluctantly, I handed her back her dog. “Aunt Agatha, it might be for the best if you were to shut McIntosh in my bedroom.”

“ _Why_?” she said in the tone that would have Bluebeard taking a hasty leave.

“Well--“ I floundered for a reason. “Jeeves is allergic. We can’t have him sneezing about the place.”

“You had McIntosh stay with you for weeks and I heard nothing about any _allergy_. What is the matter with you, Bertie!” The old dragon settled herself on the couch, McIntosh in her copious lap. “Settle down. You’ll make my poor baby nervous the way you’re shifting about. Why do you keep looking at the kitchen door?”

“I—I—“

“Don’t stutter, Bertie!”

Jeeves shimmered out of the kitchen with the tea things. For a moment all seemed as it should be. But as Jeeves set down the tray, McIntosh growled again and snapped at him!

Jeeves gave McIntosh a cold glare. Aunt Agatha saw it. Being one of those dog owners whose pestilential pet can do no wrong, she demanded: “Why are you looking at my dog that way, Jeeves?”

He stood. “He should not be here, madam. You should have left him at home.”

Aunt Agatha’s eyes popped out of head as her complexion turned to a most unflattering shade of puce. “WHAT DID YOU SAY?”

“Jeeves!” I screamed. “Don’t tell her I said that!”

The aged a. turned her basilisk stare on me. “You told Jeeves I should leave my dog at _home_?”

“Jeeves’s loyalty sometimes overcomes his discretion, aged a. Pay him no mind. I was in a mood—one gets in moods, what? What? And I’m sorry, but I said that McIntosh should be left home—“

“WHY?”

“Because—because I’ve got a cat! Don’t I have a cat, Jeeves?”

Jeeves didn’t seem to be listening. He continued to glare at McIntosh, who growled again. Fortunately Aunt Agatha’s glare was still pointed Wooster-ward. “Don’t we have a cat, Jeeves?” I pleaded.

“No, sir,” he said absently.

“Bertie, lying to me about having a cat is not to be countenanced! I have put up with a great deal from you over the years, young man. Jeeves, stop staring at my dog!”

Jeeves shook himself, and was once more the old retainer. “I apologize, madam.”

“Jeeves, why don’t you rustle up the comestibles? I can serve the tea.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, and drifted off. As he went through the kitchen door, he shot a look back at McIntosh.

“Bertie, you must get rid of Jeeves.”

Ah, now we were back on familiar territory. “Now, my dearest aunt, you know I couldn’t survive a day without Jeeves. Cream?”

Our visit resumed its usual contours. To whit: the aged relation launched into a lengthy monologue about my failings, idleness, and need for a woman to guide me. To which I responded with small cries of “I say!” and “Dash it!” However, my mind was elsewhere. How were we to survive luncheon with Jeeves and McIntosh in the same suite? Surely I could count on Jeeves to behave. If nothing else, Jeeves was a very good boy. I girded my loins and waited patiently while my aunt deplored my taste in music and books.

We were called in to dine. The table was, as always, beautifully set. Aunt Agatha kept McIntosh in her lap, feeding him bits of bread. Jeeves brought in the soup without incident. But then, as he brought in the veal, I could tell that he was quivering. “ _No_ ,” I mouthed. He set down the plates with an unsteady hand. I shooed him back to the kitchen. Fortunately Aunt Agatha was too busy shoving in the comestibles to notice my manservant’s behavior.

It was when Jeeves returned with the wine that was I was dreading happened. The aged a. was about to give her dog a tasty piece of veal. Before I quite registered what was happening, Jeeves snatched it and popped it into his mouth.

“ _Jeeves--!”_ Aunt Agatha gasped.

Jeeves stared down at her with an expression I didn’t like the look of. “Mine,” he said with the undertone of a growl. “This place is _mine_.” McIntosh responded with a growl and snapped at Jeeves! Jeeves reached for the little fellow—I closed my eyes—

Only to open them when there was the most tremendous crash of china and glass.

“BERTIE!” my aunt squalled.

Jeeves was chasing McIntosh around the sitting room! He had the advantage of long arms and opposable thumbs, but McIntosh had the advantage of being small enough to duck under the chesterfield where Jeeves couldn’t reach. Jeeves went down on his stomach, trying to reach the dog.

“Come out and fight!” Jeeves demanded. “I’ll show you!”

“JEEVES!” I shrieked. “JEEVES! BAD VALET! BAD BAD VALET!”

Jeeves was too intent on his prey to notice me. I heard a squeak under the chesterfield. Jeeves snatched his hand out. There was a bloody bite on the heel of his thumb.

Aunt Agatha sat frozen at the table, speechless for a change. Suddenly, she rose like an avenging angel, grabbed an issue of Punch, rolled it up and smacked Jeeves on the back with it. “Jeeves!” she yelled. “Stop that at once! Have you gone mad? Bertie, Jeeves has gone mad!”

At that moment, the doorbell rang. Jeeves was instantly diverted, charging the door with cries of “Who’s there! Who’s there! Who’s there!”

The door opened hesitantly, and Barmy stuck his head in. I was never so glad to see anyone in all of my born days.

“Bertie, did I interrupt something?” Barmy asked. “I heard shouting when I got off the lift.”

I grabbed the idiot by the shoulders. “This is all your fault,” I ground out. “Jeeves is a Labrador retriever!”

Barmy’s eyes lit up, and the blighter grinned! “Bertie! I did it! I hypnotized Jeeves! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were in bloody France! Now unhypnotize him!”

Aunt Agatha had retrieved McIntosh, clutching him to her capacious bosom. “What are you blathering about?”

“Barmy hypnotized Jeeves into thinking he’s a Labrador retriever, Aunt Agatha. Hence the odd behavior. Barmy, undo this mess at once!”

“I say, can I see him being a dog? Throw a stick?” Barmy asked wistfully.

“No!”

“Dash it.”

“Jeeves, come here,” I ordered. Jeeves flowed over, still glaring at McIntosh. “Jeeves, Barmy here is going to do some hypnotic things.”

“Sir?” Jeeves asked cautiously.

“Jeeves, be a good valet and I’ll take you for a nice long walk,” I said, hoping against hope it would work.

Jeeves inclined the head. “Very good, sir.”

Barmy pulled his watch out of his pocket and swung it in front of Jeeves. It seemed to take forever, Barmy swinging the watch and telling Jeeves to go to sleep. Eventually Jeeves started to get muzzy.

“Jeeves,” Barmy said, “you are no longer a Labrador retriever. You are Jeeves, valet to Bertie Wooster. You are Jeeves.” He lowered the watch. “Jeeves?”

“Sir?” Jeeves shook himself. “Do you desire anything, sir?”

“Let me,” I said to Barmy. It was the work of a moment to return to the dining table, which was now a shambles, and pick a large piece of veal out of the serving dish. I returned holding it, and held it out toward my erstwhile Labrador retriever. “Jeeves,” I said, “would you like a nice piece of veal? Barmy wants to see you beg.”

Jeeves’s face registered disbelief. “Why are you offering me that, sir?”

“Because you like it, Jeeves.”

One eyebrow went up. “I hope I am never in a position to eat a piece of meat out of a gentleman’s fingers, sir.”

“Jeeves! You’re back!” I wanted to give him a manly hug but restrained myself.

“I have not gone anywhere, sir.”

“Barmy, you did it!” I dropped the veal on the floor, giving Barmy a hard pat on the back! “Thanks, old man! I couldn’t have stood it a minute longer. Aunt Agatha, you see that there’s a perfectly good explanation...Aunt Agatha?”

Aunt Agatha stood ramrod straight. McIntosh was on the floor, gobbling down the veal. She had a strange expression on her face—actually, a strange lack of expression. A shudder went down my spine.

“Do you desire anything else, sir?” she asked.

Oh, no.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've enjoyed this, please join us at give_satisfaction on Dreamwidth. Everything from porn to angst to fluff to hurt/comfort!


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